creative non-fiction

“The branch president wants you to bear your testimony.”

“Today??”

“Yes he will call you up once the meeting starts.”

“But… I don’t speak Russian. I can’t…”

“Look, you’re a missionary, you are supposed to testify, what did you do for three months in the MTC?”

“I don’t remember…”

I was terrified. There was no way I could get up in front of a congregation of Russians on my first Sunday in Russia and bear my testimony. What was the branch president thinking? They probably figured they’d get a good laugh out of it.

I struggled to pay attention to the announcements, catching snippets of words I knew. When all of a sudden I heard the most familiar and dreaded of them all, my name, “Cestra Pyerkinz.” It was my signal to go up to the front… that along with the hundreds of eyes suddenly staring at me.

I stood at the podium. My shaking arms were sending vibrations into the old wood and rattling the microphone causing an uncomfortable clicking noise. I let go of the podium. Everyone was looking at me. I knew they were just waiting for the American girl to mess up, to say something funny like new missionaries always do. I took a deep breath. I began to speak, honestly not even knowing what was coming out of my mouth. Surely every word was incomprehensible, muddled and confusing. I could feel the tears coming. It was certainly not because I felt the spirit, although I was prone to let them believe that. I was mortified, embarrassed, and the stress of moving across the world was finally coming to the surface. I had to sit down. I quickly ended my speech and ran back to the seat next to my companion. I was ready to burst into sobs. I could have called the mission president right then and there. “Send me home now!” I would have said. “I can’t do this! I can’t learn Russian!”

But just as I was loosing all hope, I looked up with tears welling in my eyes. I saw the branch president. He looked back at me. It wasn’t much to be sure, but he smiled at me and he held up his thumb. I saw the word “molodyets” (“Good job”) move silently across his lips.

I smiled back and almost magically the tears subsided. I pulled my notebook out of my bag so that during the meeting I could write down all the words I didn’t know. After all, if I was going to be in Russia for fifteen more months I better start learning the language.